I Don't Drink
by ALollie
Summary: John decides to blog about the first (and only) time he and Lestrade take Sherlock out and get him drunk. One or Two-shot. NO SLASH, just friendship. T for drinking and swearing


Blog of Dr. John H. Watson

Sorry for not updating in a while, but we haven't had a case in a while.

This isn't the sort of thing I normally blog, but it was so funny, I just had to share.

Sherlock's damned boredom was driving me up the wall. He called Lestrade every day, and dragged me up and down London looking for excitement, and leaving half-finished experiments all over the flat. HE played his violin at 2 am and finally, at its worst, he blew up his bedroom.

It was a huge explosion, and I thought he was seriously hurt, but he came out of his room, his clothes scorched and his hair singed, with a look of complete and utter apathy. "I require cleaning supplies," he stated plainly. I just sighed.

Lestrade came by after the bomb squad left. "Sherlock, what have you done now?" he sighed.

"It's hardly my fault the criminals of London haven't the imagination or gall to commit a decent crime," he grouched. He still hadn't cleaned himself up from the explosion.

"Sherlock, that's hardly an excuse for _this_," Lestrade said, trying to get him to understand that one cannot go about creating combustion chambers in their rooms simply because no one had been murdered recently. "_This_ is madness!"

"Well, the cleaning crew and wall repairmen said they would be finished before long," I said, trying to draw attention from the glaringly obvious fact that almost everything Sherlock did was madness. It was about 8 at night, but the owner of the company had his crew at 221B working late because Sherlock had solved a case for him once, involving his war-hero son's disappearance. "They said 1 am at the latest."

"Well, do you two want to grab a drink with me? I just got off for the weekend, and I decided to grab a few before I head home." Lestrade said.

"So your wife kicked you out again?" Sherlock deadpanned, lying on his back and staring at the ceiling.

"Shut up, Sherlock. You know what, you're uninvited. John, are you coming?" Lestrade said, looking to me.

"Sure let me just grab a jacket," I said, making for the stairs up to my room. Then a thought struck me: what if we got Sherlock drunk?

I mean, he rarely drank, and even when he did, he never got drunk. Sherlock simply seemed to clean-cut for mundane things like pubs and drinking with friends. Then again, there was that whole business about the drugs. I still couldn't get the whole story, but I had pieced together that it had been cocaine, and sometimes heroin and morphine, and that he had been almost completely dependent on the drugs. When they finally dragged him off to rehab, his addiction got marked don as one of the worst cases they had seen, and therefore their best success story. Regardless, Sherlock didn't drink, especially not to excess, and honestly, who wouldn't want to see a drunken Sherlock?

I called Lestrade over and told all of this to him, sans the part about the drugs. Lestrade had been one of the few people Sherlock would listen to regarding the impertinence of his sobriety, so the subject still seemed to hit home for Greg.

"Is that a good idea?" He asked, warily. "After all, Sherlock is a nutcase while sober, who knows what he'd be like after a few drinks?"

"Isn't that the point? Aren't you curious?" I prodded.

"How would we even get him to come with us?" Lestrade asked, because he _was_ curious.

"Leave it to me."

I turned on the telly, making sure the volume was up to 56. For some reason, that number was the number was the number Sherlock absolutely _hated _the volume to be on. Anything below that was fine, but 56 and above was to be completely avoided.

"The volume is at 56, John, why is the volume at 56?" Sherlock asked irritably form the sofa. He'd had his eyes closed when Lestrade and I reentered the room after deciding to get Sherlock Holmes completely pissed.

"It's not," I lied. Then, I changed the channel to a talk show, which Sherlock could not stand.

"I hate those shows, John, you know I hate those shows. Why is it on that show?" Sherlock asked slightly more irritably.

"It was on," I evaded. I proceeded to eat the homemade candies Mrs. Hudson made, as loudly as possible. I handed some to Lestrade, and he did the same.

"John! Must you eat so—oh." Sherlock sighed. "You want me to go somewhere with you, don't you?"

"Yes," I said honestly. "Come to the pub with Greg and me."

"Greg and _I_," Sherlock said without inflection. "I don't want to go to the pub."

"Come anyway. You're bored here anyway, and I will just keep making life hell for you here. Think out it as an experiment. 'What would happen if Sherlock Holmes, went to a pub?" I prodded.

"I'd sit there and drown in even more boredom. Really, John, I hate pubs."

That told me he'd been to one before. "Sherlock, have you ever drank before?" I asked, without accusation or judgment, merely curiosity.

"Yes John, during my…days in the Homeless Network. I never drank to excess, though. Alcohol is a waste of time, it results in temporary stupidity and long-term brain damage.

"Says the man who shot up four to six times a day," Lestrade muttered under his breath. Sherlock glared at him, but turned back to John.

"I don't drink. I am not going."

:"Sherlock…"

"No."

"But you could test out and catalogue different reactions of alcohol on different types of people. That could be useful on a crime scene, right?" I wheedled.

"Yeah, say an angry man killed his wife because he was drunk, but all the evidence pointed to someone with the common characteristic in funny drunks. We'd convict the wrong men." Lestrade said using logic to his advantage, which was always a dangerous gamble with Sherlock Holmes, who practically lived on logic.

"…I can see the merit of such an experiment. Fine, I'm going, but I'm not drinking anything," Sherlock said, caving and standing to go shower and rinse off the soot.

"That's what you think," I said under my breath. Lestrade heard and snickered freely, as Sherlock was by all rights in the upstairs bathroom already.


End file.
